


Nick's Hands

by valis2



Category: Riptide (TV)
Genre: Drama, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-10
Updated: 2010-10-10
Packaged: 2017-10-12 14:40:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/125930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valis2/pseuds/valis2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Cody can't stop staring at Nick's hands.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Nick's Hands

* * *

Cody can't stop staring at Nick's hands.

Broad hands. Strong hands. Thick fingers, the knuckles scarred from years of working with engines.

Black marks on his fingertips, the oil and grease that never really comes off. Sometimes his fingernails are ragged, sometimes trimmed close. Callouses from flying, from wrenching, from handling a gun.

Cody likes to watch Nick's hands, especially on those long summer afternoons when they're drinking beer. The breeze off the water. The call of the gulls.

Nick's fingertips, wet from condensation, idly peeling the label off his beer.

Cody stares at him from behind half-lidded eyes. Watches as Nick takes another swig, lips tight against the mouth of the bottle, fingers splayed against the dark green glass. A red mark on his palm.

Once, those hands carried him two klicks through enemy territory, to a chopper, to safety.

Nick's hands express everything. Anger, with clenched fists; frustration, jabbing motions; his every mood dances off his fingers. Cody learned this language years ago in another country, and now he barely needs to hear his words to know what he's saying.

Cody wants more.

He wants to let his own hands glide across Nick's. Wants to touch, to feel the rasp of his callouses, to explore the sensitive spots between his fingers, to trace his knuckles. He wants to know what he'd taste like, Lava soap and salt, wants to lick each palm, draw each finger into his mouth and suck on it, wants to nip at the pad of flesh at each fingertip and drag his teeth across the knuckles. He wants those hands to touch him, to stroke him lightly, to grab him roughly, to penetrate--

He shivers and drops his eyes. Wanting that will make him crazy. He takes a drink of his beer, shifts his gaze to something safe. The ocean shimmers, cool and calm, and he shifts a little in the chair until his passion subsides.

He looks over at Nick. His eyes are closed. He's slouched down in his chair, head leaned back. He's not asleep; his hand rests on his thigh, palm up, fingers loosely curled.

Cody has to look away again. Has to think safe thoughts.

There aren't any. He thinks of Nick's hands, hungry, demanding--

He curses and heads below. A cold shower isn't enough; he switches the water to warm, indulges in a quick release, biting back his moans.

He towels off briskly and puts his shorts back on. The air is damp and heavy, and he opens the door.

Nick is standing there.

There's something in his look, something new. His hands are half-open, hesitant, and Cody knows that he knows. Cody swallows, frightened. Desire floods him, and then Nick is kissing him, lips hot and bruising. And those hands, his hands, hot, rasping across his skin, burning him, so passionate that he moans into the kiss.

Later, in his bunk, Nick's hands grow sweet, loving, touching him with reverance, with joy.

He falls asleep, his hand in Nick's.


End file.
